Odd ravings, comments, and other wastes of time.
Some are in plain prose, yet others are in rhyme.

04 December 2007

out of the zone

the world resolves into some sort of firewords are not heard while silence is in spina noble thought that we aren't made of winbut are the kind who always must aspireto efforts that will serve at best to tireand which are ended before they beginwe name that failure you just call it sinbut either way we find the case most direthe choices seem to go against the grainof normal sense into some other spacebeneath the symbol of the silent conewhere we are left with the most cherished painthe signs of which are salient in each faceand which is felt down to the very bone